


(lucidly, brilliantly, violently radiant)

by alphacest



Category: Naruto
Genre: (mildly), Anbu Hatake Kakashi, Aphrodisiacs, Bottom Hatake Kakashi, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Dissociation, Drugged Sex, Drunk Sex, First Time, Humiliation, Hypersexuality, Knifeplay, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Passively Suicidal Tendencies, Psychological Trauma, Public Sex, Rape Recovery, Recreational Drug Use, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Hatake Kakashi, Trans Male Character, Trauma, Underage Drinking, Victim Blaming, self-destructive behaviors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25391281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphacest/pseuds/alphacest
Summary: Kakashi has been an ANBU operative for a while now, two years to be exact, and he's never heard of a party being ANBU tradition. He supposes he can only really blame himself for being so distant most of the time.He goes to the party—if he doesn't like it, he just won't go to the next....He hated it.He goes to the next. And the next.
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi & Namikaze Minato, Hatake Kakashi/Namikaze Minato, Hatake Kakashi/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 77





	(lucidly, brilliantly, violently radiant)

**Author's Note:**

> the warning is in the tags but i felt the need to put one in the notes here anyway: 
> 
> major trigger warning for graphic rape. i had to take a couple of breaks in between writing it since i based a good chunk of it off of my own experience, because sometimes ppl project onto characters to cope :pensive:
> 
> unbeta'd - tags will be updated as i continue, if i do, though some are there that i know i'll be exploring.
> 
> i've tagged CSA, but i'm not sure how comfortable i am labelling my own experiences as CSA, so i guess i should be glad what kakashi experiences is pretty far from exact happenings nkjenkjrf? i tagged it JIC anyway i'm just weird about it because my brain is rotting
> 
> i also want to be clear that i don't know if this will have a happy ending or not.

Kakashi stares at his superior like he’s grown another head.

“I’m sorry, taichou,” he stammers. “But you want to invite... me. To a party?”

“I don’t believe I misspoke, Hound. Are your ears clogged?”

He blinks and enunciates his next words slowly. “... _Me_. Cold-Blooded Kakashi, or whatever they’ve been calling me. To a _party_.”

“It’s tradition, kid. Even if no one wanted you there, you’re going anyway. That nickname’s stupid, by the way—we’re all cold-blooded here.” 

Amusement rolls off of ANBU Rhino’s tongue with ease, and Kakashi can imagine the smirk behind the porcelain mask. The man places a large hand on his shoulder and pats it. “...Pretty sure you need it, anyway. Take some time to relax. Last mission was pretty taxing on everyone.”

Kakashi stands there awkwardly before stepping away from the touch, flushing ever so slightly. “Not a kid,” he mumbles, well aware of how childish it makes him sound. He opts out by switching the conversation topic. “Why do ANBU have parties as tradition? I’ve never heard of it.”

It goes entirely unspoken but fully understood between the two that it’s not just an affront to ANBU… culture, if it can be called that, but shinobi culture as well. The shinobi rules are pretty loose with the more extreme things, like not being allowed to cry or something, but it’s settled into the people of Konoha’s ways of life from the village’s founding.

Rhino snorts, the grin on his face evident in the way he carries himself, shoulders held high and occasionally trembling with a chuckle.

“We’re still humans, Hound. ANBU’s probably made our needs worse, with the bullshit about being tools and whatnot. Shit became unofficial tradition _especially_ when you younger ones started getting initiated. Thirteen, for fuck’s sake…” 

The latter bit seems more mumbled to himself than directed at Kakashi, so he chooses not to pay attention to it despite it clearly being about him.

“Anyway,” Rhino continues, waving something bitter and angry out of the air. “Think about it. No one’s gonna mind, and worse people have been in ANBU than a scraggly murderchild like you. It’s less of a party and more a bunch of mentally unstable assassins getting drunk off of their asses and blowing off some steam.”

Before Kakashi can protest at the title, his superior shunshins away, leaving him to think about whether to go to a party of all things.

\--

In the end, he decides to go. 

If he doesn’t like it, he’ll just… not go to the next one. It’s more to appease his captain more than anything else—Taichou would probably poke and prod at him until he went to at least one of these gatherings.

Kakashi leans against the wall, mostly clinging to the outer edges of the room. He isn’t entirely interested in socializing, and the other ANBU know and don’t bother him.

The glass in his hand is cold, a sensation to focus on in lieu of the somewhat chaotic noise around him.

The alcohol is laced with something—it’s obvious from the moment he brings it up to his face. It’s likely meant to be a scentless, tasteless thing, but unfortunately for whoever put it in his drink, his senses were bolstered by his bloodline.

Poison? Some kind of muscle relaxant? It’s probably something to either kill him or make him easier to kill.

He weighs his options as he lets the liquid swirl in the glass, body language far more relaxed than one would likely expect from a man who knows his drink has been poisoned.

He sniffs at it again. It’s not anything he recognizes, nothing ANBU have had training against, and most of _those_ tend to be highly potent. Whatever’s in his drink either is too weak to be on the radar of the ANBU, or something entirely unknown.

_If it kills me, then it kills me,_ he thinks foggily, bringing the glass up to his lips. Kakashi doesn’t bother pulling down his mask, drinking right through the fabric and likely staining the front in the process.

The earthy flavor of shochu washes down his throat, tinged ever so slightly with something sweet. He’s only ever tasted small amounts of alcohol before, not enough to actually get drunk. The appeal is there, though, to fog up his head beyond remembering the crunch of a collapsing rib cage.

He downs the rest of it in one go ignoring the urge to sputter on the liquid fire, instead pouring himself another drink.

A couple of eyes flit to him, but nothing noticeable or out of place. Kakashi quietly files away whoever looks at him into his head regardless, out of morbid curiosity about who could possibly be stupid enough to try and poison him.

Lucky for them, he didn’t care all too much.

There isn’t all that much to do but drink, considering he isn’t interested in whatever the other ANBU are doing in various other areas of the room. 

Surprisingly, Kakashi doesn’t mind, and time floats by like a piece of driftwood in a river.

Being drunk is pretty nice, a blurry filter overlayed on top of all of his senses. It should probably make him panic more, being so vulnerable, but the shochu seems to have taken care of that for the most part as well.

At some point, he finds himself resting his head on his arms and sitting at one of the tables, vision fuzzy and warmth pooling in his gut.

“Oi, Hatake, you came!”

Kakashi’s reaction is embarrassingly slow, but he manages to pick his head up anyway to see that his captain has found him.

Hachirou’s lost the ANBU issued mask and vest, in his black under armor like most of the others at the party (he still wasn’t really sure what to call this).

It’s still jarring to see him as _Hachirou_ instead of _Rhino_ , but not as much as it would be to see any other ANBU—the man always lacked the typical “darkness” one might expect from a member of an organization with such morbid purposes. He raises a hand and waves with two fingers, head lolling lazily to tilt to the side.

“Taichou,” he mumbles in greeting.

Hachirou blinks, warm brown eyes flitting to the glass in Kakashi’s other hand and taking in the younger’s state before snorting. It’s something lighthearted and teasing that makes something flutter in Kakashi’s chest. “Drunk already, Hound? How old are you again?”

“Sixteen.” Kakashi’s pretty sure he’s slurring his words a bit. Huh. So that’s what he sounds like drunk.

He looks down and notes his arm has relaxed, resting the glass and his elbow back on the tabletop.

He makes an attempt to get up, swinging his legs over the bench and failing miserably, wobbling. Hachirou yelps and bolts over to support him, slinging Kakashi’s arm over his broad shoulders.

“Stupid lightweight kids,” Hachirou grumbles in a low, rich, textured voice. The complaint lacks any true annoyance.

Kakashi hums in response, allowing his weight to fall against the man—he sets Kakashi back down on the bench, facing outward instead of toward the table this time. “How much did you have to drink? Part only started ‘bout an hour ago.”

That doesn’t sound right. It’s been like… two hours at least. Or three.

Taichou sighs, and oh, he said that out loud. Huh.

Kakashi’s leaned up against his captain’s side, having not let go after being settled down and with his arm still comfortably draped across Hachirou’s shoulders. The man practically emanates warmth, and he presses his cheek against his skin with another content noise escaping his lips.

A soft puff of breath escapes Hachirou, amused and incredulous. He says something to his friends—he came over with his buddies, apparently, how’d Kakashi not notice that?—before waving them off, leaving the two mostly alone in that corner of the room.

The party is loud and people are rambunctious, letting loose in ways that indicate the worst kind of suppression of humanity, and people meander by the table the two sit at every once in a while, but they’re not all too focused on them, wrapped up in their own party-goings.

Kakashi comes back to himself when he feels Hachirou lean back into him—they shift, and in this position, he’s practically cradling Kakashi against his chest.

He doesn’t know why, but he suddenly feels very, very unsafe. It’s a different, unfamiliar kind of unsafe, not like what sends adrenaline thrumming through his body, the knowledge of what death feels like just one misstep away. That is an unsafe he knows, recognizes, embraces.

It’s an anxiety that coils in his chest like a spring around his heart, and he wants to run. A vague sense of shame and embarrassment rises up his throat when he realizes he’d just been snuggling with his captain, three times his senior.

Hachirou must have caught the tensing of his body considering their proximity, and instead of backing off, he swings his legs around so that Kakashi is effectively sitting in between them. He rests his chin on Kakashi’s shoulder.

There are plenty of things Kakashi could, should do. Logistically, he recognizes if he forced himself enough, he could get away, even inebriated

Kakashi sits there, unmoving. It’s not what he imagined the “freeze” reaction to be, really—when he hears of it, he thinks of a deer who’s caught the eye of a shinobi, limbs locking together in terror, an inability to move.

He is not frozen by fear, if that’s what he’s feeling. He simply… doesn’t move.

Despite the ongoing party, it’s as if it’s dead quiet, a deafening silence that threatens to strangle him as Hachirou’s hand rubs at his waist. A finger or two slip beneath Kakashi’s loose shirt—he’d forgone his skin-tight ANBU black top for something more loose, a navy, comfortable sweater with the addition of his mask sewn on in a more breathable fabric at the top. 

It snakes under the mesh armor, and he sits there, back leaned against Hachirou and probably the tensest he’d ever felt before.

“Scared?” Hachirou mumbles, voice unbearably close and terribly loud despite it being nothing more than a whisper. “Don’t you trust me?”

It’s a mockery of concern, maybe. Kakashi thinks it’d be scarier if it were genuine, so he takes brief comfort in believing it to be faked.

His sense of pride is overridden by something, and it’s an odd feeling he’s practically never felt before; the vulnerability of being small, and a child.

“...Mmhm,” he responds, quiet in the confirmation. His voice is pitched up unlike how he typically tries to deepen it in his usual speech. Something roils in his stomach. He wonders what his face looks like, if it reflects what he thinks he looks like in his brain, eyes wide and glassy.

A small puff of air, gentle laughter. “It’s okay, Hatake. We can work on it.”

Hachirou talks like it’s the beginning of some kind of relationship when they’ve only been captain and subordinate for the past couple of months that Kakashi’s been on his team, assigned to a new one after his old ones died. He notes the familiarity in the way Hachirou talks to him here and now, like a lover.

If the man is surprised at what he finds under Kakashi’s shirt, he doesn’t show it. Hachirou gropes at his chest, nuzzling into Kakashi’s neck and running his hands all over the younger man’s torso.

Kakashi recognizes in the back of his head that it’s the first time anyone has touched him like this aside from himself. His limbs are tense with anxiety, but they move out of the way for Hachirou.

Another foggy thought floats by his head, remembering distantly gazing at Hachirou’s toned biceps and broad shoulders, defined pectorals. He knows if he were sober, he wouldn’t do anything to stop this, anyway. He’s always found the man somewhat attractive.

He’s _fantasized_ about this kind of thing, sometimes on his own, sometimes with the help of Icha Icha in his hand, eyes scanning over words and replacing names with more familiar ones.

Warm hands cup at his… his chest, fondling, fingers running over his nipples—it’s a touch he doesn’t register all too much. He isn’t really sensitive anywhere as far as he knows. Despite this, the touch has him trembling, ever so slightly.

He probably should’ve known something like this would happen after drinking that drink. It was a possibility in his brain, though, maybe even an expectation.

Kakashi notes the eyes that are on the two now, gazes burning with interest and drunken arousal. It makes him want to crawl into a hole and never come out, pat down the dirt until he’s suffocated.

Irrational arousal slinks through his veins at the same time at the prospect of this happening in front of so many people. Out of the corner of his eye, he can spot a couple or two fucking against the wall.

He finds his voice. “Taichou,” he whispers, voice wavering uncharacteristically. “There’s- there’s people here.”

“Lots of people, huh?” A hand slinks past Kakashi’s waistband, rubbing at the wiry white pubic hair before moving down, down—they slip between the folds of his sex, and he’s shamefully wet.

Hachirou makes a noise of approval, moving his fingers gently over Kakashi’s clit in slow motions. He finds himself rocking his hips into the motion, not vocal but his breathing picking up.

Everything is fuzzy and blurry, and he hears a low, quiet “good boy” in his ear and experiences a violent full body shudder. 

Hachirou chuckles, filing the reaction away for later. Kakashi’s eyes water and his face is flushed, heated as if it were on fire. His heart threatens to shove past the confines of his ribs and bleed all over the floor.

“Don’t pay attention to them, Kakashi,” Hachirou mumbles. 

Anxiety and the desire for approval that he can only describe as childish bubbles to the surface of his thoughts, some combination of fear and a want to do good, seeking praise like some sort of _child_.

Disgust rolls in his stomach like the turbulent waves of the sea—a finger slips into his hole, much thicker than his own. It fits in, though, not requiring too much force.

Hachirou wriggles the finger, musing happily. “Do this before?” He can’t help but attribute the gentle teasing in his voice to the face of his sensei. Would he feel scared with Sensei?

“Mmgh. I- I’m a virgin,” Kakashi whispers, cheeks colored with a slurry of embarrassment, arousal, and alcohol. He doesn’t know what Hachirou’s referring to specifically, so he might as well just air that out.

A noise of vague surprise, and maybe approval, rumbles in his captain’s throat and chest. He’s so warm.

All of a sudden Kakashi’s on his back, splayed out on the tabletop—distantly, there’s a cheer, and it sounds like Kakashi is underwater with how distorted it is to his ears.

Something blunt and hard presses up against his crotch— _Kakashi_ made him that way, he thinks foggily.

His sandals, pants, and boxers are stripped off with ease, leaving his lower body bare, and the air is refreshing to the heat coursing through him. Hachirou shoves his mouth against his, and there’s no clacking of teeth, the older man’s experience making up for Kakashi’s complete lack of it in this department—

—a tongue, it’s wet and sloppy and Kakashi finds it hard to breathe. He decides he doesn’t like kissing.

His captain must’ve pulled his own trousers down because he can feel the head of his cock pressed up against his entrance, rubbing up against him just a few times before Hachirou shoves his length in.

“A-Ah!” 

It _hurts_. Kakashi’s mind is whirling, because he’s put things up there before and it never hurt this bad with even less preparation, was it just the sheer size? He’s making noises, contrary to the belief he had that he’d be quiet during sex. His breathing, his own whimpers are grating against his ears, tears springing up in his eyes and blurring his vision further.

“Nngh-”

“Does it hurt, baby?”

Hachirou’s breaths are ragged, like he’s being undone. The pet name has him entirely grossed out, sickened, he doesn’t want to be here but he doesn’t want the moment to end. Kakashi is fucked in the head. And now the body, he supposes.

He can only let out a shuddering breath, words failing to crawl out from his throat, so he wraps his arms around Hachirou’s torso and nods into his shoulder. His grip on Hachirou is loose, limbs trembling with the weakness of experiencing a new kind of pain that he didn’t expect to be toppled by so quickly.

“Mm-”

Hachirou shifts his hips and groans, noises spilling out of Kakashi’s mouth against his will, and through muddled thoughts and sensations the pain is horrible and pleasurable all at once.

It’s terrible and he hates it.

He wants more.

“Haah...”

“Needy,” Hachirou laughs. In the background there’s the muted sounds of whoops and hollers, and Kakashi can feel all of the eyes on him.

He hides his face behind his arms between his whimpers, even slight shifts of the length inside of him making him jolt.

In, out, in, and at some point it’s deep, far deeper than it was able to go in earlier

“Gotta get that shit offa you...”

A distant metallic sound rings in the air, a kunai being unsheathed, and the tip of the blade traces Kakashi’s jawline, and then his chest. It’s hell trying to keep himself still, to steady his breathing, especially when Hachirou keeps at pistoning his hips, cock hot and heavy and thick.

The kunai digs in too deep a couple of times, blood welling up where the fabric of his shirt had been torn. It must’ve been newly sharpened, and _fuck_ , Kakashi thinks, that’s why he pulled it out.

The fabric of his mask is peeled off of his face, face exposed to the air. He can’t help but feel relief at the cold air nipping at his face and being allowed to flow freely into his lungs, but the relief is very quickly torn away when Hachirou groans and cups Kakashi’s cheek with his calloused palm.

“Beautiful,” he mutters, thumb brushing over his newly exposed skin. Hachirou had grabbed his wrists at some point, holding his arms above his head.

He remembers where he is, can vaguely sense the sheer amount of people in the area, some doing their own thing, some who’ve come to watch the show. Revulsion threatens to surge through his body, the only thing halting that train of thought being the dick being thrusted in and out of him and the too-loud groans of the man on top of him.

With the mask portion of his shirt having been sliced off—there goes that top, he supposes—his neck and collarbone are exposed along with his lower face.

Hachirou takes advantage— _he’s taking advantage he’s taking advantage_ —of the lost fabric, dipping his head down to mouth at Kakashi’s neck, suckling and biting and he finds again that he’s far more sensitive than he thought he was, again that this is _far_ from what it’s like to touch himself, he feels distant and maybe a little sick—

The man shoves himself in, fully hilted, and he stays there, the moans they both let out incredibly lewd—

—and Hachirou’s torso is suddenly on top of his, Kakashi’s captain nuzzling into his neck. He’s heavy.

Hachirou came. He didn’t notice.

Isn’t he supposed to feel the warmth inside him or something when the guy spills? Jiraiya’s writing is unrealistic.

There are people whooping, sly comments flying over his head, words not being processed. He’s pretty sure some people are jacking off way too close to the two. The scents that mingle in the air are suddenly far, far too strong for his nose, but he can't bring himself to cover it with a hand.

He breathes shallow breaths and feels Hachirou’s cock slip out of him, a wet and gross feeling.

Back aching and strained from the cold hard surface of a tabletop, Kakashi muses.

Sex kind of fucking sucks. He stares at the ceiling with unseeing eyes.


End file.
